I Remember You
by uberswell
Summary: Thomas recounting his 1st night with Jimmy, leads to dirty reverie. Written in the style (hopefully) of a journal entry.
1. Chapter 1

It is not yet morning, and I should be asleep, but I find myself—for all the exertions of the night and indeed, this day, this week, these past few years (and more, if I am to be honest with myself)—curiously invigorated, keyed tightly but also at something like peace. And so I am recounting the events of the day; even so, I lie here with your arm, your bare and golden and beautiful arm, folded across my waist. And I am bare too, and we are together.

When we arrived in London there was a drizzle that soon turned to a soft rain. We walked from the station to the hotel, despite the chill, glad for each other's company and to have only each other's company. The hotel we are staying at is pleasant, bohemian even, given the neighborhood, but nothing so fancy as to risk the accidental meeting of some previous guest of Downton, and not so simple as to be a favored residence of others of our class. Like this trip itself, it was only really feasible with both of us together.

Of course over the past year we have gotten to know each other quite well in friendship, and after the revelations of February, in love as well. I have never held all the cards in love, and as I have come to learn, that has not changed with you. At almost every point in the time since I have known you, I have felt caught up, subject to my own desires and your inexorable charm, inexpert, fumbling, clumsy, lost. Never have I felt less sure, less confident, but in the act of love, in this I had found myself on certain footing.

At first, all we did was kiss. "All". As though our kisses were less than, like dry bread instead of a roast. No, forgive me. At first we kissed. And kissed, and still more kisses, and it was like we sketched our sex months beforehand with only our lips. As aching as each night left me, I was thankful, because your mouth taught me what you like, how to touch you, touch your cock, better than you knew, better than anyone ever has until me.

I remember the first time I took all of you into my mouth. The family had been out of town for weeks, and Carson had run out of tiny esoteric spoons to polish, the 11th best china had been dusted twice, and we had more time in the evenings for ourselves. Alfred and the girls had gone out to town to see a film, Carson was catching up on his books, Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Patmore were getting in a nice long gossip, and we had several hours to ourselves before we had to even consider sleep. No need to rush, no need to watch the clock, no need to attend to anything once the latch to my door clicked shut, followed by the clatter of your brass livery buttons hitting my floor.

You advanced on me with determination. If you had been in France, the Germans would have had nothing on your determination. You pressed against me, until my calves were flush against the bed, and brought us down til you straddled my thighs, lean and tight, your lips to mine, tongue tangling with my own, hands against my neck. After all these months—_years_—to be pinned against the bed by your lust was intoxicating. It was no hardship to give up control to you for these moments, to be schooled in the language of your need.

You tugging at my hair, devouring kisses, hard swathes of tongue, filling my mouth, hard and soft alternating press of teeth into my lips, bite press bite, the iron clench of your thighs against mine, your hips like a metronome against mine and you cock hard and insistent against my belly, arching into my body, keeping time with your teeth. I was becoming fluent in you. You knew only that you wanted, but I am clever, and quickly knew _what_ you wanted.

I grabbed your wrists and pushed you back. You stumbled, half off the narrow bed, whimpered like you were in pain. I stood and turned you, pushed you back onto the coverlet and took your place. Dear Christ your lips. I devoured them, sucked each in turn into my mouth, abrading them with my tongue. My game was give you an intimation of what my mouth can do to you, to terribly sensitize you, so that even a soft breath from me on your lips would feel to you like you were drowning in sensation.

As I worked over your mouth I slid my thumbs under your belt, teasing out your shirttails until I felt the exquisitely fine flesh of your lower belly and hips under my calloused hands. Although my hands are large and nimble, you were situated awkwardly, pressed downwards. While my fingers traversed great swaths of you skin they were splayed away from buttons of your trousers and did not reach your cock. Your fingertips scored my thighs and you tried to rock against me but only the heated air between us. You moaned so beautifully for me.

You became sweet, reaching out to me tenderly with the tip of your tongue. I did not let you dissuade me from my task. It was not until I felt your head list to the side, drunken with my kisses, whimpering, past will, that I began to suck on just that tip. I kept at it for several beats, now working at your buttons, pressing each tightly to your belly before I slipped it loose.

I took your tongue full in my mouth, twining it with my own, and for the first time I took you in my hand. God, I thought you'd buck me off at that. So hot so hard, as silken-fine as white four, as solid as marble, heavy, heavy, weeping already for me. I rolled my thumb over your tip and then switched hands, taking you in my left as I and pulled my mouth from yours. Your eyes were slitted, you were almost lost, but they drew wide then, hazy and dark with lust. I held my slick thumb before your swollen lips, brushing it against you lips for a moment before bringing it to my own mouth, sucking on the musk and salt of you as you shivered beneath me.

I pried your hands from my thighs and set them firmly to either side of yours, closing your fists against the bedding as I slid off of you and onto my knees. You looked down at me, gasping, chest heaving, bronze curls damp, lips and mouth and eyes full of me, only me, anticipation for me. Yes I am cruel, I never said I wasn't, only that I love you. I let you wait, tugging your trousers and pants down your hips, knocking your hands aside and back to the bed as you tried to speed my progress. I waited for 20 months for you, you wait for me now. Even when you were freed and bared to me I waited, until your breath matched the beat of my own.

I am cruel, and I love you, and I am not made of stone. Your suffering was mine. I write of your torment but I was far from immune. From my position between your legs I felt draped in you, the press of your thighs against my shoulders, your smell, the salt and metal and clove taste of you, the rustle of cloth and staccato of our breath.

I suppose I should have some shame writing these next lines, but I don't; one of the few places I have felt most at peace has been when I have set myself between another man's thighs and had my fill of him. I know many think otherwise, but I have never myself felt low kneeling with a mans cock in my mouth; it was always others that tried to make it so. But never you.

Once I had the head of your cock seated on my tongue I used my hands to pin yours at your sides. Eventually I would want to reclaim mine, to roll your bollocks between my fingers, to labor your shaft, to press hard against your base and to move lower still. For now it was time for you to sit and learn what this mouth you knew so well was capable of, how much you had to learn of pleasure from me.

When I finally took you in I am sure I sighed with all my heart. I am not giving into hyperbole when I say that I love and want all of you. I love your face and your voice and your thighs and your arse. I love your hands, and your feet, the lovely corded muscles of your back. But this was the first time I had seen you fully, and I was glad to see that I also loved your cock. It is a beautiful one. Large for your stature but fat and beautifully veined. Your hood was mostly back, soft as suede, a toy within a toy for me to play with after long hard swipes along your length with the flat of my tongue, after worrying the thick vein traversing the underside of your cock (which seemed to me even richer than the rest of you), after nipping at the flare of your head lighty, lighty, relentlessly, ghosting my tongue over your drenched slit.

But finally I sucked you in deep, all the way into my throat. You met no resistance, no man ever has, this was nothing I ever had to learn. Perhaps in part this is why I made such a good medic; my body resists nothing, rejects nothing, it has only ever been my heart, and with you my heart has always been open, as wide as it has ever been with anyone.

You were and still are, my love, a fantasy embodied, and with that first full deep suck of you I hummed with pleasure. I felt your groan as much as heard it, could sense your toes curling in you shoes and so I did it again. And again, and again, tightening my grip on your wrists as you writhed beneath me, me beneath you. You began to thrust, as much as my hard restraint allowed you, and I went with it, matching you with suction, rolling your head against the inside of my cheek, brushing it hard against the back of my palate before taking you back all the way again to the root.

By now you were so far gone that when I removed my hands from yours you stayed put, fists clenched into the bedding. white knuckles melting into the sheets. I played with your bollocks for a time and then firmly gripped your hips, stroked you heaving belly, making you feel vulnerable and exposed to me under my caresses. I pulled you further into me, your arse now half off the bed. You jerked back, shoulders thrust far now for balance and I tugged your trousers farther down your thighs, revealing all of your core, all soft and hard and slick with your sweat and my mouth.

You were begging now, begging me, for _me_, my name and God's interchangeably on your lips. _Good_, I thought, _let him beg_. It is a sweet pleasure to know that of the two of us, it is not God that can answer your prayers.

With my left hand I continued my lovely torture of your shaft. I used feather-light touches with just the tips of my fingers every time I drew my mouth back, a counterpoint to my unrelenting suction on return, the pressure, the ghost of teeth. With my right I wandered and played in the valley below your bollocks, padding my fingers along it methodically, strategically, until I found the place that may you bow against my hands and gasp my name. With every hard suck now I rocked my thumb into it, and you met me with your hips, still trying to gain what little leverage might be left to you by hooking you feet clumsily against my calves. To all the world you are golden, perfection, sure, right, with a place for everything and everything in it's place. How I love to unlatch you, lock by lock falling to my clever hands, and open you wide and scatter these hidden parts of you around like treasure.

I had now pulled my mouth off of your cock and was laving your bollocks with the flat of my tongue. I rolled my tongue a bit to cradle them firmly, insistently pressing all the while at that hot little patch, your cock leaking copiously now, speeding the glide of my rough palm against you.

Although my desire was almost painful at that point, I felt peaceful. I love this best, hunger for it as much as any release, getting lost in the rhythmic sucking of cock, losing track of time, sinking down into into your smell and sound and taste.

I felt you tighten and rise up against my mouth, thicken in my hand. The thought crossed my mind to press against your base and press your bollocks back, to halt your pleasure so that I could continue with my reverie, but I had shown you enough of my cruelty and talent, and you had been such a very, very eager student.

Bringing my lips back to their home, I focused myself on heavy sucking and pressure. Every bit of you touching me felt like granite. The tension from you body coiled around us. Your whispered pleas and nonsense words took on greater urgency, and I could feel your pleasure cresting. Your cleft was soaked with sweat and my own saliva. As I felt the first deep contraction traverse your cock, I slid my finger deftly inside of you, taking you from both end. The bed dipped as you rocked heavily to your side as scrambled to thrust a fist into your mouth to muffle the sound of your spend.

You came down my throat and I swallowed around you, feeling my tightening muscles wrest even more pleasure from you. I continued to suckle at you until you softened. I gentled my mouth now, lightly lapping you clean and you sagged into the bedding. Your face was dazed and soft, you were gasping deeply. A heavy quiet settled between us, and it was the work of a a few brisk strokes before I came beneath your feet, my brow against your slick thigh, licking my own lips, never enough, never enough of you.

That was the first night you slept with me, near until morning, us both still wrapped lushly in what we made together, a desire uniquely ours, different than any I had before. The night my sleep was quiet, rich, and dreamless.

It has been weeks and weeks hence, but I remember every taste of you. Now, my fingers only know the feel of the world around me in relationship to the touch of your skin. 120 weight wool in summer is the palms of your hand, thick satin lining cases of silver is your tongue against my teeth, mahogany slick with oil and lemon is your thigh in the early morning.


	2. Chapter 2

During the train ride, you recommended several cabarets and dance halls you had enjoyed during your time with the Anstruthers, and I offered up some of my own favorites, including a few that, while not as well known or popular, could find us easier with each other, around others like us. There were restaurants and coffee shops, too, that you had favored, and it was a game we played, tossing back and forth where to go first once we dropped our belongings off at the hotel. Did you hope, as I did, that those plans were just a way to pass the time, and once we were alone together we would remain that way?

We walked side by side from the station but I followed you into the room. As I look around now, I note that it's quite fine, but at the time you were all I could see. Our room is situated off a courtyard, and the way the light wrapped around you, filtered through the trees, took the softness from you, and my breath away as well. I felt that I was seeing you a decade from now, the man you will become, and the extremity of lust I knew was shocking. It was like opening a familiar door and finding it leads not to the parlor or kitchen but to something altogether different and grander—an unexpected mansion. I was dizzied, disoriented. For a moment I called into question the easy confidence I had felt in my ability to please you, to make you burn as I do. But then you stepped into my arms and pressed close to me, and any doubts were checked by the fever of your mouth against mine.

We played like that for a long while, no prying eyes to worry about, the hours ahead an uncharted vista. Just kissing, touching, hands working buttons and ties sightlessly. We had no need to look, our bodies of a kind, the same garments restraining us. You were overtaken by love quickly, though, and it made your skilled hands slow against my chest.

I separated us just a bit, better to unfasten my trousers and undo my shirt. By now I had known almost every inch of your body but never all together, in the light of day. We undressed deftly, in silence, our eyes fixed on the other. Once you recaptured your composure you were a right flirt, and I was charmed. Although I have taught you much about sex, and about your own desire, as I have said, you are an apt pupil, and your gift of making my blood heat is exceptional. You used that knowledge to full advantage, shrugging off your shirt to best display those perfectly formed shoulders, the lovely muscles of your chest. Watching you unclothe felt like seeing the Elgin marbles made flesh. When you gazed at me through your lashes as you opened your falls, chin canted shyly down (an act surely, you are well aware of your masculine beauty and the effect you have on me), on your lips the figure of a smile to cast all other smiles as shadows on the wall, there was nothing in any gallery or museum that could compare to the art of you.

When you were divested of your trousers I was satisfied to see strong evidence of your desire, leaving me with no doubt as to your appreciation of my own form. Through all these lonely years I have taken care of my body. I have done so for no one, at times denying myself the few pleasures available to one of my station. I did so despite a creeping surety that there would be no men in my future to please with the product of my restraint, outside of hasty, clothed encounters in the dark. But I was wrong; in proving me so, you have made me terribly happy.

Oh, and when you prowled to me, bare and so handsome. I feel myself fill as I recall the long hot press of your body flush against my own, nothing between us anymore, your cock a thick brand along my hip, you hands roaming surely across my shoulders, down my back, stroking my arse. You are my golden love; your touch scorched my body like the sun heating sand. A man with a weaker heart could have fallen out from such perfect pleasure. And this was just the beginning.

I crushed my mouth to yours, taking possession of the kiss from the beginning. I wanted to give you epic pleasure. If you and your wicked hands had their druthers, I was afraid this night would end too soon and we would find ourselves at the theater after all. _This is my show, for you_, I thought. _**Attend**_.

We stumbled towards the bed, and such a large, lovely bed it was: fit for two lovers, two men. I pressed you into it, crawling across your body, setting you against the pillows. I wanted to make sure you could watch what I had planned. I have never wanted to please another so much.

I mouthed down the marble column of your neck. Throughout the night I marveled, repeatedly, at the luxurious sense of _time_, that we had time to be together. It was an expansive feeling, creating great spaces that I filled with my love and lust for you. All routes to our pleasure could be scenic, and I traversed your body with leisure. You rocked beneath me, trying to press your hard chest and taught, lightly furred belly into my mouth and hands as I had my way with you.

For myself, I drifted deeper and deeper into pools of sensation with each slide of my body down your own; the friction of the hair on your thighs against my chest and again against my cock as I drew lower was maddening. When I finally reached your cock and carded my fingers through your darker curls, tugging hard, briefly, you held your breath with a hiss. The weight and flavor of you in my mouth is far from new, but it is something I never tire of, and I never will. I was splayed naked across your lower body, and you groaned and stroked my scalp as I took you in, hot and deep. Your cries reverberated through my body as well as yours. Your voice thrummed through my bones, another way to feel you. _Such pleasure._

Your palm slid down to the nape of my neck and you tugged at my hair. You pulled me wetly off of you and up to your swollen lips. I won't deny it, I was surprised. Surprise combined with delight as you slowly swabbed my lips and mouth with your tongue, lapping at the taste of you on me. I marveled at this fresh aspect of you, my secret courtesan. Your right hand stayed tangled in my hair, as your left proceeded to drive me out of my mind. It has been so long since I have been touched so thoroughly. With your nails you lightly scored my bare back, from shoulders to arse, and I shivered in your arms.

You cupped the back of my head and deepened our kiss, which had somehow gotten away from me and pledged loyalty instead to the kingdom of your wicked mouth. Shifting your thigh and pressing me even more firmly into you, you turned, and I found myself swiftly on my back, pinned underneath your arms, between your thighs.

You continued to plunder my mouth with yours, my body flush with yours and under you, and my heart was suddenly gripped with an intense love and grief. You are the first man since Phillip to hold me so. It was not something I had planned, ten years ago, to never lie underneath another. If you had told me even a day ago that I had hidden away this part of my desire lest it be treated shabbily again, I would have denied it totally. But now, curled hotly beneath you, you pressed into me so fully it seemed you wanted to become a part of me, I knew the truth of it, and for a moment I panicked.

Just when I thought I would have to push away from your beautiful warm body or suffocate, you pulled away and moved your head lower, mirroring my earlier journey. _Love let me do this for you, let me take care of you_, I pleaded, my voice broken and rough to my ears. You shook your head as you looked up, your curls stroking my groin. _I want this_, you whispered, pressing hot little kisses into my thighs. _Thomas won't you give me what I want?_

What could I do? I was lost to you. I held my head up—I would soon be trembling with the strain—and watched helplessly as your triumphant smirk engulfed my cock. This is not the first time you have taken me into your mouth, but there have not been many times before, and none of them occured with you confident above me as I lay prostrate and gasping.

It was still light out but the shadows had begun to lengthen, and the tree outside of our window conducted a shadow-play across the wall and on the bed on which we lay. The dry leaves were almost black against the blue, limmed with orange fire from the sun. I felt myself sinking into those shadows as my world contracted to one point, to the sensation of your plush lips and wet sueded tongue around my cock.

In passion you quickly proved yourself a savant, and it was not long before, shuddering, I felt that tight coiling pleasure build. I fumbled for your shoulder and whispered roughly, warning you of my immanence. You abruptly withdrew from my cock and sat up on your heels, your cock bobbing heavily between your thighs. _No, not yet Thomas_. I could not hide my needy shock, but you only shook your head, again, your lips red and swollen, face serious.

_I want to be inside of you_. You leaned forward and stroked my damp thigh with one hand, skirting the place I needed you most. _You are so beautiful. I want you so much, all the time_. I felt feverish with my desire for you. You were the one who had sickened me, but you were also my only cure. When you pulled away from me I thought I would die from the sudden loss of you and me. What else could I do but acquiesce? I swallowed, and whispered my assent. I was desperate for you, me in you, you in me. I would give up anything, even this last bastion of control, to sink once again into the deep well of love.

You moved to the edge of the bed but kept one leg on it, your foot tethering my calf. From your overnight bag you retrieved a small bottle of oil, and pooled some in your palm as you turned back to me, straddling my thighs again. You pushed my legs up, my feet flat on the bed and knees cocked to the side, as I silently settled a pillow under my arse. _I've been thinking about this_. A sudden flush bloomed across your cheeks. _I've tried this myself, thinking of you_.

I hardened even more at that, the sudden rush of blood leaving me lightheaded. Dear god, the vision of you, what, kneeling, legs spread, in your spare room at night, just across the hall from mine, noiselessing sinking on your fingers, as though they were my own? Or did your first experiment find you on your hands and knees, reaching behind yourself, knuckle deep, hard breath muffled by a pillow?

You slicked yourself up, and me too—you can be generous when you want and tonight you were in a giving mood—your palm rotating hard over my head and slicking me downwards, oiling my bollocks before you slid lower still to my crease. I felt like an ancient sacrifice, prepared with the aim of appeasing a mercurial god, you, my love. I spread my thighs further apart, offering my hips and arse to you, my cock achingly prominent. With one hand on my arse, supporting and spreading me, you stroked my entrance with the rough pad of your finger.

All the while your attention was focused wholly on me. Have I even been the object of such complete dedication? I was pinned to the bed by nothing than your hand and weight of your gaze. To be the object of such total attention from you, from my lover, was incredibly erotic. For almost two years my senses had been tuned to you. Even after you finally revealed yourself to me, and we were together, I have been half obsessed with keeping you, with proving to you that this is not a great mistake, that there are rewards, recompense, if only you would take the risk. I was so devoted to convincing you of the value of this desire, and of at last being able to show you mine, that I neglected to understand, until this moment, how vastly you also desired me. I was stunned by my omission, wracked by a sensual thrill.

It felt terribly vulnerable, to feel you push a finger into me. Your progress was slow going. As I mentioned, it had been years, not even my own hand, and I could feel myself almost as tight as a virgin. I was surprised that none of this had the effect of dampening my ardour; never before had the sensation of vulnerability been arousing. And yet with you touching me as I had only minutes before anticipated touching you, I experienced myself under your intimate caresses as both the lover and the loved. By the time you had added a third finger, eyes locked on mine, petting and spreading me, I was nearly on the brink. In your mercy you withdrew, and I steadied my breath as you oiled yourself again, drew me apart further with both hands, and slowly pushed in.

Although your ministrations had been thorough, I still was not fully prepared for the stretch and burn of your fat cock opening me. I knew what to do; I focused on my breathing, relaxing myself as best I could to your impress. Your restraint was remarkable, each inch gained hard won. What pain I felt was richly upholstered in your beauty. We had neglected to set any of the lamps before our lovemaking; the shadows were falling all around you now to the music of our labored breathing, the steady rustle of leaves, and clatter of trolleys and pedestrians on the streets below.

Your face was an encyclopedia of sex: pleasure, restraint, mastery, tenderness, discovery were written there. I was drawn out of my study as our eyes locked and you smiled, friendly, warm, alive. I smiled in return, and suddenly the atmosphere changed, again. My anxieties, fears, and self-consciousness dissolved as I lay on my back with you halfway inside of me, fondling my arse and hip. This was no performance, no teacher conducting a lesson for his prized pupil. This was _us_, together, alone in a grand bed, making love in the late afternoon. I settled the soles of my feet more firmly and added a slow rock to my hips, and your smile turned to a low sigh.

At last you were fully seated in me, your pelvis flush against my arse. You tightened your grip on my hips, and began to thrust. You were tentative at first, and I appreciated it, but the ache I felt was chased by a familiar itch, that deep craving for fullness. I reached backwards, bracing my hands against the headboard so as to gain leverage. Your eyes near rolled back in your head as I slammed my hips forward, matching your thrusts with my own, speeding you on. The breeze from the open window cooled the sweat on our skin as it formed.

You asked me something, and I agreed, mindless of the question. I would say yes to anything from you, even if you had not held my orgasm in your hand. Apparently I gave the desired response: you hiked my hips up further and the slick from our sweat and oil required you to grip hard, dig your fingers in and mark me. You loomed over me, supported by your forearms, and as you settled above me I wrapped a leg around your narrow waist, drawing you closer. Joy simmered in my breast. I felt young again, writhing in pleasure under a beautiful man, the complete object of your desire, filled with your hot cock, wrapped tight around you. After Philip, and the war, I had not hoped to feel so wanted and alive again.

This new angle meant that with each thrust your cock rubbed against that inside place that drives me mad. You are a musician, after all, and your hips were like a metronome, striking that spot relentlessly, never losing the beat. Helplessly, I tightened around you, a throbbing rhythm. We were both gasping, whimpering. I was near insensible at this point, so overwhelmed by feeling, your sex in me was as much a taste, a color, a sound, as hot pressure and weight. I rocked my head back and forth, damp locks clinging to my brow as I pushed into the headboard in desperation to ground myself in neutral sensation lest I spend too soon and this dreamy madness end.

Our breathing was ragged, my thighs and hips burning from the strain. My torso ground against yours, all hard muscle, soft skin, and my cock slick and trapped in between. You pressed into me further, and crushed your mouth against mine. It felt so good, so so good, and soon tears mixed with our sweat. I do not doubt that you could taste them as you ravished me doubly with your lips.

I was slamming back against you now, we were making love and fucking, and it was a matter of two, three more thrusts before I spent hard between us, spasming uncontrollably along your length. Pleasure swept through me, an avalanche of pleasure. My cries were lost in your mouth. You drew your breath with a hiss, thrusting desperately into me until you spent, trembling, murmuring _God_ and _Hell_ and _Thomas_ in my ear. Even after your completion you continued to push into me, your rhythm broken, gentling. When you pulled out of my body I felt almost bereft.

Sated and spent, you collapsed on my body with a satisfying weight. Your head lolled against my neck, where you absently mouthed tender kisses. I buried my face in your sweat slicked hair, bussing your brow as I waited for my heart to slow.

At last I quieted. We lay in shadow and silence. You lifted your head and lay your hand on my cheek, sanded though it was with dried sweat and tears, cradling my head sweetly. You were beaming in our dark room, eyebrow cocked, looking both fond and terribly pleased with yourself. I had no argument—I cannot remember ever been so thoroughly fucked, or loved. I arched a brow in return, and pulled you to my lips.

For the first time in recent memory I feel optimistic, not solely because of my own skill or plans, some inside track I've located, but because whatever tomorrow brings I believe it will bring you with it. You are not Phillip. For all the hurdles before us, we are more alike than not, of the same class, of a mind with regards to our ambitions, our hopes and dreams. I have always set myself as the metric by which I measure the world; perhaps I need to learn a new math, once that can express this growing peace, a new happiness that is neither staid nor restless.

The sun is rising now, just a few heliotrope rays making their way across the room. In your sleep you pull me closer to you, your cock already half hard. I rub against you like a cat, content. I will sleep as well, we have another full day awaiting us. I do not know what it will bring.


End file.
